


Instinct

by deadhearts



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, Breathplay, D/s, Dirty Talk, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadhearts/pseuds/deadhearts
Summary: They have undergone nothing that leaves no trace. Steve's learned to hold presence, but he still wants to please. Instincts still tell him to get on his knees when Bucky's strength rivals his.He still wants to take. He wants Bucky to take him.It doesn't take long for Bucky to notice.





	Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> This used to be part of a much bigger work that will never see the light of day, so any problems with pacing may be attributed to that. Wanted it off my hard drive.

  


Once upon a time, Steve's greatest pleasure in life was to bring Bucky to ruin just by submitting, by wanting, by kneeling before him. Steve was so small then, so light, so goddamn in love with him that it didn't take much for Bucky to take him. Bucky had the advantages of being taller, stronger, more muscular than Steve; so there had been little sense in fighting for strength via means of brute force. Steve just didn't have it; not in that sense. He had to find it another way.

Steve felt the most powerful he'd ever felt in his life when he brought Bucky, big Bucky, to clattering ruins.

All this strength later, and this is still true.

It helps to be big. It helps to be able to hold Bucky down. It helps that Bucky goes boneless in his arms -- something that never used to happen, that used to only be Steve. For the very first time, Steve understands what Bucky used to see in him. There is an extreme pleasure in taking a person for all that they are.

Steve knows this now. He does it whenever he can. Stamina and size are on _his_ side, now, and Bucky's so willing, yielding, so wanting to _take_. What Steve has acquired in tacit restraint, Bucky has lost in much greater measure.

He _needs._ Steve offers.

But Steve still needs, too.

They have undergone nothing that leaves no trace. Steve's learned to hold presence, but he still wants to please. Instincts still tell him to get on his knees when Bucky's strength rivals his. 

He still wants to take. He wants Bucky to take him.

It doesn't take long for Bucky to notice.

Steve loves the advantage. He tries to hold on. But it's Bucky, it's _Bucky,_ so there are times he forgets. There are times, like today, when Bucky takes him by surprise, kissing him slow and measured when he walks in the door. There are times, like today, when Steve's hands start to shake; when he finds his breath breaking soft with Bucky against him. Bucky kisses so whole, his hands clench so tight in his hair, at his hips, pressing into his skin. Even as Bucky takes, there's so much he gives -- his warmth, his form, his tongue at Steve's lips.

Pressed against the wall, left only to hold -- Steve's hips stutter forward.

It's not as it was. They are both different. Bucky is softer, his smile with less edge as he pulls Steve in tighter. Steve's resolve is crumbling, his senses alight, and Bucky's _intending_ to take Steve apart.

It's working. Steve's breath stutters; his hands only hold, he loses initiative, he loses strength and size and pretty much everything. Bucky's still kissing him, it's hot and it's perfect, each swipe of Bucky's tongue going straight to Steve's head. 

_God,_ Steve still loves this, he wants this, he wants _him_. He's floating; he's gone.

Bucky's lips are at his ear -- "You think I don't notice the way you want me?"

Steve's voice turns over in his throat, his hands burying helpless in Bucky's hair.

"I know how you like my cock. I remember it all. I remember how fucking thirsty you are. You used to fuck yourself in front of me to prove to me how deep you could take it, remember that?"

Suddenly, Steve does. Angry that Bucky thought him too fragile to actually fuck, he'd once slicked himself up and worked himself open in front of him out of spite alone. He'd started with his own fingers then pulled out tools Bucky seemed not to even know he had, building, taking more and more and deeper and deeper as Bucky watched from across the room. Steve barely even touched himself, silent except for the occasional moan that broke out of him; and it had taken nearly an hour before Bucky moved at all, but once he'd finally bottomed out on the largest girth he owned, Bucky'd finally sworn brokenly and kissed Steve hot and furious until he'd come with two of Bucky's fingers pressing at the object buried within him.

Bucky'd agreed to fuck him, after that. Like he'd asked for.

"You used to take me all the way down, any way you could." Bucky's thumb dips -- strokes a gentle line along Steve's throat. "You were so _good_ at it, so willing. Used to swallow me right down and then look up at me with those eyes, Stevie. Your pupils. _God._ You loved to hold me in your throat like that, even though it cut your breath off. Your pulse raced so bad, but you wouldn't let me pull back. Sometimes I used to think you needed my cock to be in you more than you needed oxygen.

"And you know what, Steve? I don't think you're all that different now."

Bucky's right. He's no different. Just to hear Bucky talk about it, Steve realizes he's holding his breath. He suddenly _aches_ for it, longs so bad to feel the weight of Bucky's erection on his tongue. He forces the breath out, shaky, hands gripping in Bucky's shirt.

"Will you give it to me?" Steve asks, resting the side of his face against Bucky's.

"You want to take me the way you used to, don't you? Do you think about it? Swallowing me down like that?"

He does. He nods.

"I can tell. I always loved those lips, Rogers. They always looked so good wrapped around me like that. Pink and perfect."

Steve shuts his eyes when he thinks about it. He's so fucking hard.

"I can feel how bad you want me," Bucky says, so soft.

"Please," Steve whispers, sudden and unexpected.

"Tell me." Bucky traces the line of skin at Steve's beltline. "Tell me how bad you want me."

"I--" He licks his lips, throat pulsing just to think of it. "I want you. I want you so bad, I--"

"Do you feel it?" Bucky's voice has gotten so rough, it seems to drag from the source of him, and Steve's lightheaded, the words striking through him. "Do you ache for it? Is that where your voice went? Is it in your throat, Steve; do you need me in there that bad?"

"God, I -- yes."

Bucky takes a slow, steadying breath, with his hand flush against the back of Steve's neck.

"I love you so goddamn much," Bucky mutters, and Steve knows it; he feels it. "Get down on your knees."

The second Bucky steps back to allow him to do it, Steve drops like he was made for it. His eyes find Bucky's erection, and _fuck,_ it's so good, it's bulging through his jeans, and Steve reaches out before he knows he's done it to stroke at it with gentle fingers.

His eyes flit up to Bucky's face. He loves to watch Bucky from here. He's always loved to look up and see the way Bucky's reacting to him best of all. His eyes have flickered lightly shut, his hand's reached forward to take Steve's fingers away from him, and Steve guesses Bucky's nearly as fargone as Steve is; this may not take long at all.

"Do you want to touch me," Bucky asks, at once quiet and commanding, "or do you want me in you?"

"In me," Steve says immediately.

"Take me out and put me in your mouth, then."

Steve fumbles with the button of his jeans and there's a tremor in his hands. He licks his lips and looks up at Bucky and sees that Bucky sees it -- revels in the way Bucky runs a hand through his hair. He shuts his eyes and lets Bucky do it, lets his head be shoved aside by Bucky's attentions and pulled back in, knuckles think in his hair. "Do as I asked," Bucky says, and Steve does; he pulls Bucky's cock into his palm, that big, beautiful, thick fucking cock, and he rests the head of him on the tip of his tongue.

He looks up at Bucky. Bucky looks down. This is how they've always done it: this is how they proceed. Bucky will give Steve what he wants; he'll fill him up good. He'll give his throat the satisfaction of taking him. But first he has to be good.

Steve tastes him. Sweat and salt. A dab of precome dribbles onto his tongue and Steve's throbbing in his pants, _Christ_ , he wants him so bad. But he just kneels there, where he belongs.

Bucky's fingers in his hair. "Taste," Bucky tells him.

Watching him all the while, Steve seals his lips around the head of him -- and holds.

"Oh," Bucky says. Sometimes, when Steve is on his best behavior, Bucky gets vocal. Every sound is a shot to his dick and Steve's so thankful to be here right now. Bucky waits and Steve waits too; he suckles, just a bit, cheeks sucking in, whirling his tongue over the slit of him to catch all from him that he can.

"You want me?" Bucky asks again. But Steve, otherwise occupied, can only blink up at him.

Bucky starts to move. Bucky is patient. He looks down at Steve and Steve looks up at him, eyelashes long, working slowly around him and pulling back, pushing on, pulling back in time with the motions of Bucky's hand. He's pulled and controlled and his chest builds with want. His eyelids flutter and this is where he wants to be, at any size. He knows he's getting sloppy from the way slick forms at the corners of his mouth. 

Bucky pushes deeper, teeth sinking into his lip -- a little bit deeper with every thrust. Steve starts to feel effort and the first time the head of him nudges at his throat he _hums_ with it, hums with the way his body reacts: a jolt of the gut and the clench of his fists, a hint of lightheadedness and the urge to back off. Bucky doesn't let him. Bucky's knuckles are harsh in his hair and Steve's breath starts to stutter, he wants it so bad, he aches, he aches; Bucky thrusts deeper, slow, deep, slow, until he repeats the sound. Until the hum's interrupted by his stutter for breath.

This is the part where Bucky grows tender, and Steve likes that, too. He likes the guilt. It burns in him as it burns in Bucky. They both want this and it takes them over. Steve's mouth fills with all that he wants, saliva and desire, as Bucky's hand pulls and soothes in Steve's hair, pushing in for longer, making his breath cut off. Steve can do it. He can do it so much better now than he used to. He wants to prove it to Bucky, and he blinking so slowly through those spans without air, holding his eye, reassuring. He wants this. He can do this. Here, he is free: with no power, no fight. Bucky's hips pull back and Steve takes a breath he doesn't want. He wants to taste him, only him. He wants his senses overcome. He wants Bucky to trust that taking his cock is the most natural thing in the world to him; that the count of his heartbeat in his ears when his airway is sealed -- that drum of whole trust -- is the only true ambition Steve truly has.

To do better at this. To bring this big man to ruin.

_Four, five, six._

Bucky pulls out again. Steve takes in a breath, lets it out again.

"Steve."

He focuses his eyes, blinks up at him. Bucky's dick is on his tongue and he is at peace.

"How far down do you want to go?"

Bucky's fingers are gentle at his jaw, around his ear. He doesn't pull out, so it's not a real question. The question is: _How far do you trust me?_ The question is: _Is this you trying to tell me?_ Steve never fellated anything in front of Bucky until it sat in his throat so he understands the question; the need for it, the tone. Bucky's asking him if he wants him to take Steve all the way under; if he wants to turn this from a practice in endurance to something deeper. Into Bucky pulling him under and leaving him there.

Bucky's hand's not in his hair anymore, so he leans forward and takes him in himself. He takes Bucky down nearly to the very base, and it takes an adjustment; his throat leans long and he gags, he chokes. Bucky is thick and he's so fucking snug and Steve takes him and blinks. His heartbeat in his ears slushes loud, louder, faster, until Steve loses count.

Bucky just holds his eye. He holds his eye and lets Steve hold him deep; runs fingers down his throat. His hand maps his jaw where it's hinged open around the girth of him; then, slowly, his fingers dip down, following the line of Bucky's cock where it pouches his throat. 

Steve's own cock is still hard in his pants and it takes him over, gives him an odd urgency that's at odds with this peace. Bucky wraps his hand around his throat and just holds -- not restricting, not squeezing at all; just holding, palm finding the bulge of him.

"I can feel myself, you know," Bucky mutters, in open awe. "In you. I feel it."

Bucky's fingers stroke himself through muscle and sinew. He holds Bucky's gaze, transfixed, drunk with the way his chest burns for air. Bucky looks calmly down at him through it, adoringly -- proud. Steve never wants to move. He never wants to leave. His heart is _pounding,_ his eyes sliding out of focus as he looks up at him, head tipped back, full. He tightens his throat around Bucky's girth, revels in the way his lungs start fighting the longer he stays.

"Breathe," Bucky says.

Steve pulls off him, oxygen flooding him as immediately as it's able.

"Jesus," Bucky mutters, carding fingers through his hair. The touch is so much, Steve feels the sensation tenfold what he should. He takes a few breaths of out sheer necessity. He's so fucking hard, he feels it so much. It's hell without Bucky in him, even with his fingers holding at his neck.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Bucky's saying. "I'll give you what you want. You want this back?" Steve nods. Bucky nods, swallows. "I want you to have it. I want you to come in your pants and I won't stop until you do. Understand? I'm going to edge you with my dick in your throat until you come from that alone, and you'll be lucky if I don't come first."

It's an empty threat, but it does the right thing: leaves him helpless to Bucky, lets him give over that last shred of control. Steve blinks at him, lips parted, chest heaving for breath, until Bucky fists his hand back in his hair and leads his face back to his dick; and Steve tilts his head back where he sits and lets Bucky push slow, slow, and so fucking big, all the way back into his throat. 

Bucky settles right back in, inch after suffering inch, until Steve's eyelashes are left blinking against his stomach for how deep he is. "Take it, Steve," he whispers.

It's all Steve can do, amid the heartbeat in his ears.

  



End file.
